(An attempt to remember, through poetry, the sacred sacrilege of Mardi
Gras, as celebrated by the extended Cherith Brook family on Monday, February
16, 2015)
Joy comes in
Glimpses of Heaven,
Bread with leaven,
Bright colors a swirling
Grown folks with fresh babes on hips – all twirling.
Joy comes in,
As I, with wide-eyes, witness
a sight remembered
long after:
the extravagant ecstasy
of silliness,
As he, with gigantic gestures,
the recovering evangelical pastor,
prays G-d might
join this night of foolishness.
Joy comes in
Sounds of celebration:
Laughter shared
between mothers and daughters,
neighbors and wayfarers.
Music mixed
by a
liberated, love-struck DJ, beside, his bejeweled fiancé flowing in silver;
Dances stomped
out in a strange, colorful circle
of beings
– all sliding, sashaying, squealing!
Down the center line they turn to tango in mismatched pairs
of
outrageous pants and golden skirts,
of
gemstone-glued foreheads and obnoxious sunglasses above turquoise shirts;
—
all seeming, feeling simultaneously awkward,
surprised, delighted by
and thankful for
the ecstasy of
silliness.
Joy comes in
Moments of madness:
As a gleeful game leader shouts in
improvised gibberish
And adults, losing their wits, gasp
& grasp to follow:
“Turn! Jump!
Twizzle!”
On the sideline adolescent lovers, longing
to whirl, exchange looks that wonder:
“Do we dare?”
Joy comes in
When a people, free, cannot be boxed nor labeled;
A gentleman
has come;
He asks my name—twice.
Says
his name is “Bear.”
From the farm have come
Heads
of hair (some long and twisted)
and they have come
bearing cheesecakes—fat and fair!
From the schools have come
Four
ESL teachers
A
Physics one, too.
Along
with a composer, a dancer, a robot-builder.
Then, over
there,
A
nurse,
A
soap-maker,
A
man with a purse!
Smiles are everywhere.
Even
daughters relish their mothers,
And people proudly flaunt their
quirks
Knowing present there is not a
single jerk.
Amidst all this marvelous mayhem
Have
come not one but two! recovering evangelical preachers,
Claiming,
like Elijah, that they’ve quit the church—
One
to raise chickens,
The
other to teach language—
And yet,
Amidst their search,
Like Elijah,
They are still praying;
Though not for light
But instead that all might
Sin boldly and greatly on this one,
spectacular, silly night.
Oh joy!
What a sight.
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